


Wiggle Wiggle

by Khemi



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Elf Ears, Emotions, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Mobile ears, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, but good ones, gender neutral hawke POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it like frowning or smiling? Can he control it? Do they move even more as his mood gets stronger? <em>You need to know.</em></p>
<p>“Keep staring and you’re the one people will think is after me,” he mutters, turning swiftly on his heels and walking away. Despite his tone, his ears lift again, and you wonder if it means what you think.</p>
<p>Could he like you? Behind all the snide comments and sneers?</p>
<p>One way or another, you’re going to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wiggle Wiggle

**Author's Note:**

> My first published attempt at Fenhawke, written purposefully to be read as any Hawke. Posted pre-Fenhawke week, when I will really be getting into the meat of writing the ship!

You first notice it when he’s talking to Anders. It’s subtle, really, something you’d never thought to look for, but once you seen it you can’t stop staring.

His ears are tipped towards his shoulders until they both verbally throw up their hands and stalk away from each other, and Fenris spots you watching him, his eyebrows lowering even as his ears rise to points that fan directly out.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” you lie, giving him a half-cocked smile. “Just listening to your lover’s spat.”

He looks at you in disgust, and his ears flick downwards, the motion unmistakeable and oddly mesmerising. You wonder how many ways they can move, how often they do that, if they’ve always been active and you just weren’t paying attention or if maybe,  _maybe,_ he’s finally relaxed enough to let them move as they will.

Is it like frowning or smiling? Can he control it? Do they move even more as his mood gets stronger?  _You need to know._

_“_ Keep staring and you’re the one people will think is after me,” he mutters, turning swiftly on his heels and walking away. Despite his tone, his ears lift again, and you wonder if it means what you think.

Could he like you? Behind all the snide comments and sneers?

One way or another, you’re going to find out.

.:.

Varric gives you a long look when you explain your need to observe Fenris’ ears in the wild. It’s somewhere between him accusing you of drinking, suggesting Isabela put you up to this, and asking if you have a death wish, and it says far too much about how long you’ve spent with him that you  _know_ that.

“You want me to try and make the porcupine laugh? I don’t even know if he can do that, Hawke. After they fit all the doom and gloom into that bondage gear, they likely didn’t leave any space for sunshine.” The dwarf glances along the path to where Fenris and Isabela are engaged in a conversation that’s much more animated on her end, and involved her clasping her own wrist and jerking her hand in a way that makes you glad you’re not overhearing. “I’ve played to tough crowds, but never to a wall. Suppose it’s a challenge.”

“This is why I love you, Varric.”

“Whoa, boy. Careful with strong words like that, Bianca is a jealous woman.”

“My apologies to Bianca.” You grin and tip your head to the crossbow, who of course will understand it was merely the heat of the moment that had such terrible things slipping out. You’d never forget Varric is already a committed dwarf. “But- thank you, Varric. I’ll owe you.”

“Hawke, you already owe me more than the rest of Kirkwall put together.” He rolls his eyes, turning and waving a hand idly over his shoulder. “But noted. One more think you’ll regret, I’m sure.”

You watch him meander his way down to them, sliding naturally into the conversation like Varric does best, Fenris shooting a suspicious look your way but letting it pass when you do a good enough impression of being fascinated by the first paper you pull from your pack. Isabela and Varric are laughing swiftly, their humour so in-tune it’s shocking to you that they ever spend time apart, but your attention is not on them.

Fenris is watching them, silent and calm, his ears still even and straight beside his head. You bite your tongue, hold your breath, hope that even he is weak to the charms of these ridiculous companions of yours, and observe his ears with something of an unhealthy intensity.

“All I’m saying is, at least before they go they get to experience something exotic,” Isabela is saying, wiggling her fingers again. Varric snickers and nods.

“Imagine when they meet their maker and the last thing in their tale is that an elf put his whole hand in them and blew their mind. I can’t help but think there’d be a fair amount of confusion about just how enjoyable that death might’ve been…”

Fenris’ fingers twitch beside him, hand raising to cover his mouth, and though you cannot see his lips or hear his soft chuckle, you  _do_ see his ears twitch upwards. They sweep higher, exposing the inward curve of them, then drop as he catches himself, clearing his throat and lowering his hand.

“Have to give these people some excitement in their lives,” he says in his usual tone, but you don’t care, you have what you need.

His ears wiggle when he looks at you, and you let yourself imagine they tipped upwards just the same.

.:.

He fans his ears when he’s tired, and draws them in close when he wants to be alone. Flicks them upright to listen alertly, or lets them settle pointed to the sky when he settles back beside the fire and listens to the songs the others sing.

They never drop when he looks at you, even if it’s in annoyance or frustration. They stay spread, and now and then you think they even drift higher, another think you’d blink and miss, like the ghosts of his lips quirking at you or the laughs that are so light you’d think you’d imagined them if they didn’t leave your whole chest aglow with fire.

You find it’s easier to read him, now you understand the trick, easier to measure your tone and warn off those whose voices are more rash when he’s in no mood to hear them. He looks confused, when you start to take a more active interest in such things, suspicion creeping onto his face when he overhears you telling Isabela that now isn’t the time to hassle him.

One evening his fingers touch his upwards slanted ears as his gaze meets yours, and his cheeks colour, his arms folding tight across his chest.

The game is up, apparently.

“It’s unfair,” he remarks the next morning, kicking at the ashes of the fire, “that you don’t have some sign across your face that tells me just what you’re feeling.”

“I do,” you answer with a lazy smile. “It’s called an expression, Fenris, though I know you’ve hardly heard of them. That’s why I need your ears, you see.”

His ears twitch up, his laugh a whisper on the wind.

“I see. And were I to take to helmets? What then?”

“Then I suppose I’d be left bothering you for answers, and knowing you I’d get nothing for all my efforts.”

Fenris straightens and looks over you, and his ears twitch, before his gaze drops away.

“Yes, well. You’ve already got plenty from me, if you weren’t paying too much attention to my ears to see it.” He clears his throat, starting to turn away. “Not that it’s worth much, to have something from nothing.”

It takes you no time to reach him, broad strides bringing you close enough to catch his arm. Though he stiffens, ears flicking in alarm- touching,  _touching,_ you always forget to warn him- you hold still until he settles, then shrug.

“Well I’m lucky to have something from a man so fine, aren’t I?” You mumble it, hardly as smooth as you’d like to be, as your cheeks heat to mirror the redness on his face. “I pay attention to all of you, really, your ears are just the jewel in an already fine crown.”

“Then you should speak to your treasurer, because he’s given you glass and plated copper.” Fenris rocks backwards, but his ears are still tilted towards something pleasant. “I’d ask for your coin back.”

“I’d ask for other things,” you reply softly, leaning in until you feel his nose against yours.

For a moment, your eyes meet, his open wide but not surprised. Then your lips are together, and you can’t tell if you leaned forward or he did, but the gap is closed and he is warm against you.

When he slips back, his ears are up, up and open, higher than you’ve seen. He touches his lips, looking away and muttering when his visible attempts to lower his ears result in nothing but them wiggling in place.

It’s horribly endearing.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper, “a lot of men have trouble with such things.”

Fenris shoves you, covering his face, but his laugh is still audible, his ears still just as tall.

“I hate you,” he lies, and your chest is hot and all aflutter.

“I hate you too,” you tell him sweetly, and he just grumbles his way forward, nervously letting you surround him in your arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you have any prompts, [you can drop me a line.](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> [Fanart by my-friend-the-frog](http://my-friend-the-frog.tumblr.com/post/124002419013/may-or-may-not-based-on-this)
> 
> Comments always welcome! :)


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